


Primitus

by Artisan03



Series: Death Magic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Master of Death Harry Potter, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22126573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artisan03/pseuds/Artisan03
Summary: In the face of Death, Harry was unafraid; now,beven after living through the ends of several different worlds, Harry Potter refuses to be afraid. Or maybe he has finally forgotten what fear feels like.This is a glimpse into the existence of Death (It) and a Harry (Them) who use the eternal cycle of life and death to give themselves the time and separation necessary to adjust to the still-evolving bond between a concept and a person.
Relationships: Death & Harry Potter
Series: Death Magic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592680
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Primitus

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU THINK I SHOULD CLARIFY ANYTHING, PLEASE COMMENT BELOW. :D

The air tasted like dust.

The world lay bare, devoid of any vitality. The ground was cracked and blistered. The sky was gray with sulfur and ash. There was no water left, anywhere; the once-vast oceans had dried up without an atmosphere to protect them from the relentless onslaught of a collapsing sun.

The concept known as Gravity had surrounded the dead planet in rings of dirt and dust, rings which had begun accumulating after the first asteroid storm had struck.

There was no one left to bother counting the days, but if there were they would notice that the rise and set of the sun was now governed by a 9 hour cycle, shortened due to the decrease in the Earth’s own mass, and, in turn, the additions of several smaller, misshapen moons to the planet’s orbital plane.

The world had transformed into one, impossibly large, desert.

The Earth was dead. 

A figure sat, somewhere on the world. 

They did not blink. There was nothing to see.

They did not speak. There was no one to hear.

They did not sleep, because they had already slept for too long. 

Instead, they breathed deeply, inhaling the burning air as though it were a refreshing breeze, standing and stretching as though they were awaking from a satisfying dream. 

The air above the cracked, dusty ground shimmered with heat, but the figure did not seem to mind. Their bare feet strode across the smoldering rocks with no hesitation. 

A breeze ruffled their hair; this should have been impossible, and they turned to face the creature behind them.

They blinked. For the first time in a long, long, time, they saw the Earth they had sat on. As they peered at the endless horizon they saw Before and Beyond, and that small space, Between.

“Ah.” A voice that should have been hoarse with disuse sounded smooth in the dusty air. 

“Is it time?”

Their shadow, made small by the light of the burning sun, shifted, darkness collapsing in on itself before exploding upwards. What emerged was blacker than black; a striking silhouette in the midst of a world of muted greys and browns.

The creature did not speak yet; there was no need. It did not yet feel the need to explain itself to Them.

All the while, the sun beat down, unrelenting, even as the light began to creep towards the other side of the planet.

There was only so much time left.

They sighed, having grown unused to communication in their solitude.

“Where will I go?” They asked, but not out of fear. Whatever would come, would come, and then go, and the cycle would repeat itself. Only in this case was repitition not a question of sanity; there was only one way for these things to happen. One way that happening happened, anyway.

The power to change these things was out of Their hands.

It considered Their question for a moment before It responded. 

“Does it matter?”

The Everything should have trembled at the sound of Its voice, but the world did not stop turning on its axis; the Earth itself did not shatter; the Universe did not pause to watch as It spoke to Them.

It imposed Its intent, and the Everything folded. The Fates paused in their mending as a tear appeared in the fabric of Everything. 

At It's gesture (the gesture was not harsh, It was just filled with an unbearable nothing), They stepped through the tear, which was mended by the Fates as quickly as Reality could bear.

As They passed through the gate and into a Nothing that can only be described by shades of darkness, They felt and indescribable sense of relief--indescribable because They did not know where it came from; after all, the Everything would continue, until the happening would happen, and then the cycle of life and death would repeat again and again, until the cycle was not necessary to placate Them.

In the darkness, It spoke to Them.

“I am sorry.” 

It was only sorry insomuch as It was an I, which is to say, It could not be sorry at all, as It had never before existed singularly enough to develop a capacity for "sorry." Despite the current impossibility of It's sincerity, They tried to accept Its newest attempt at empathy. Still, even though It would eventually develop a capacity for empathy, It could never understand how Their pain had been exacerbated by the inevitable time each cycle required. After all, It and They had only been bonded for ninety nine cycles worth of time; hardly a drop in the ocean of Its existence.

It had existed far beyond Them. 

Still, this cycle had been unusually long. Unbearably long. If They had not shed this cycle's mortal skin, They would have devolved into insanity a mere century after the Earth began its decay.

But what were centuries to It?

They still knew time. It had yet to learn. It knew Then and Now. It knew that time existed. But It held no concept of the passage of time, or of how time spent in solitude, in Its darkness, was more deadly to Them than anything else could possible be. 

Still, They forgave It, because It was innocent. It was granting Them their wish; to live, again and again, so that They would not be trapped in darkness while It adjusted to their shared bond. 

They were grateful.

They did not know how long They spent in darkness but eventually another tear appeared, at the behest of It, and They fell through darkness into the new light. 

As They fell, They whispered their thanks to It. As They raced towards the blinding light, They felt It tentatively respond with an approximation of happiness, and They were proud.

It wouldn’t take much longer, now. 

It was beginning to understand Their experience of the minutiae of Time, even as They began to forget. Compared to the infinity Beyond them both, the passage of time was nothing. 

And soon, Time would be no more than a concept to Them than Time was to It. 

Eventually there would only be It, and Them, and Nothing.

But until Its nothingness was no longer Nothing, or until They could bear the Nothing--whichever came first--They would continue to fall through the Nothing, back into the Everything.

Another turn of the cycle.

With another Twist from the Fates, the tear was mended.

They were somewhere new.

And It felt an approximation of happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Too strong? I hope to write some more one-shots, to show my interpretation of Harry's original life after acquiring the title "Master of Death," as well as his lives after that. :)


End file.
